The Exploits of the Heroic Capt Tuttle
by Evenmoor
Summary: Chuck is sick of Woolsey getting his name wrong, so he decides some revenge is in order. Silliness and confusion ensue.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise, nor _M*A*S*H_.

**A/N**: While this is not a direct crossover with _M*A*S*H_, this is definitely an homage to it, obviously the first season episode "Tuttle" in particular. This little idea came to me a while ago; the possibilities were too much to resist.

I now present to you, without further ado, _The Adventures and Exploits of the Heroic Captain Tuttle_.

All reviews are read and appreciated.

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><p>Chuck simply couldn't take it anymore.<p>

_There was no Chet_, but no matter how many times Chuck remined Richard Woolsey of his proper name, the new bureaucratic leader of the Atlantis Expedition never got his it right. He had been in charge of Stargate Operations on Atlantis for _three years_. You'd think that Woolsey, a nosy busybody at the best of times, would bother to learn his name. Chuck was a sergeant in AIRCOM, for heaven's sake, not a burger-flipper at a McDonald's in Vancouver!

After Woolsey called him Chet for the sixth time, Chuck decided to get a little well-deserved revenge on the paperpusher. To help him in the caper, he enlisted a couple of assistants, two men highly skilled in the arts of pranking and both more than willing to pull one over on the new boss: Coughlin and Reed. Their conspiracy was also aided by a late-night DVD marathon and a large number of Red Bulls.

Chuck started by adding "Capt. Tuttle" to the duty roster as on nightwatch in the Gateroom – one of the least desirable postings on Atlantis: it was boring beyond belief, for one. Coughlin and Reed then proceeded to have a loud conversation in the corridor as Woolsey was walking by.

"I cannot believe that guy!" Coughlin groaned.

"I know, it's just ridiculous," agreed Reed, nodding expressively.

"Captain Tuttle is making the rest of us look bad with the way he's always volunteering for the worst duties, the most dangerous missions. I mean, seriously! Leave something for the rest of us, man!" Coughlin grimaced, laying it on thick for Woolsey's benefit.

"He took the graveyard Gatewatch, did you know?"

"That's exactly what I mean, Reed. No one wants to sit through the night doing nothing but watch the Gate, but Captain Tuttle _volunteered_ for it!" exclaimed Coughlin.

Woolsey stopped mid-stride and frowned. Coughlin and Reed could almost see the gears in his brain trying to place the name of Tuttle. Meanwhile, they continued with the charade.

"He's crazy, that's what he is. Certifiably mad. I'm telling you, Reed, no normal guy could do the things he's done."

Reed shrugged. "Crazy? Crazy _good_, you mean."

"Oh, no denying that," Coughlin remarked, "but I'd just like the chance to rescue the kitten myself for a change!"

His teammate gave him a wicked look. "Coughlin, you'd get stuck up the tree, too, and then Captain Tuttle would have to rescue you as well as the kitten."

Coughlin snorted. "Thanks for that, buddy. I'm sick of Captain Tuttle. Let's go get some chow."

They left Woolsey in the hall, still trying to figure out who this "Tuttle" guy was.

Oh, yes, he bought it – hook, line, and sinker. The rest kind of snowballed out from there.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Woolsey really was predictable.

As he passed Chuck's workstation in Stargate Ops on his way into his office, he paused a moment. "Chet, do you know a Captain Tuttle? The name seems familiar to me, but I can't quite place it."

Chuck decided to disregard the fact that Woolsey got his name wrong (again!) in favor of the bigger picture. "Captain Tuttle?" He let his eyes widen slightly. "The man's a legend around here, Mr. Woolsey. You're lucky you asked me about him and not Colonel Sheppard or one of the others."

"Really? Why is that?" asked Woolsey in confusion. "He's their 'comrade in arms,' isn't he?"

"Yeah, but if you had to ask about him, then it would mean you didn't _know _about him," Chuck said, as if letting Woolsey in on a big secret. "You wouldn't want to look like you didn't know about the Legend of Pegasus."

Now Woolsey was even more baffled. "The Legend of Pegasus? This wasn't in any of the mission reports I read before I came!" he complained.

Chuck shrugged ruefully. "Maybe they didn't give you all of them, Mr. Woolsey. Then again, we have had some problems with the mainframe recently. They might have gotten lost somewhere. We've had enough trouble with the personnel files to drive IT to insanity!"

"Yes, that must be it." Woolsey frowned. "Could you have him paged? I want to meet him."

"You really want to do that? He's on Gatewatch tonight, so he's asleep right now. But if you want me to-"

"No, no, of course not, you're right. Just let him know when he comes on duty," Woolsey said hurriedly. Chuck grinned triumphantly - inside, of course. "What can you tell me about him?"

"He's one of those guys you'd never see coming. By the time you realize he's there, he's already gone again. I bet that most of the people here can't even describe him! He's like a ghost, Mr. Woolsey. I don't think anyone really _knows _him," Chuck elaborated, enjoying every moment of embellishment and drawing the bureaucrat in deeper with each word. "A lot of living legends are like that."

The thoughtful expression on Woolsey's face was almost too much for Chuck, who had to stare at his laptop intently to keep from cracking up. That, of course, would have ruined the whole thing.

"Pull his personnel file for me. I want to read up on him," Woolsey ordered.

"I'll do my best, but we've been having some trouble with corrupted data architecture in the bio-neural gel packs," Chuck replied innocently. "Totally wiped out a lot of files. Whatever you do, do not mention it to Dr. McKay or Zelenka."

"I'll keep that in mind, Chet."

Chuck clamped his jaw shut and smiled, rather than blow a gasket at his boss.


	3. Chapter 3

While Mr. Woolsey pondered the Legend of Pegasus in his office in Stargate Operations, Coughlin and Reed were making themselves busy elsewhere.

The Atlantis Expedition only occupied a tiny fraction of the city - it was a _city_, after all, and there were only a few hundred personnel present, which meant plenty of empty living quarters. So the two men simply appropriated one and moved in some spare furnishings to craft the illusion that someone actually occupied the room (not an easy task given its distance from the transporter). The finishing touches included a framed poster from Reed's private stash.

"Perfect," he said as he hung it on the wall.

"You don't think it's too much?" Coughlin asked as he adjusted the bedclothes.

"Nah," replied Reed, taking a step back and admiring his work. "It's just right. After all, even Captain Tuttle has a personal hero of his own. Colonel Sheppard has Johnny Cash. Captain Tuttle has Chuck Norris. Perfect."

"Yeah, you're probably right, come to think of it." Coughlin looked around the room. "Y'know I wasn't sure whether to bring family photos, but now that we're here and everything else is done, I can definitely see that Tuttle is a military man through and through. No time for family when you're always out saving the galaxy, after all."

"Good call. How would you have gotten him family photos, anyway?" Reed asked curiously.

His partner in crime shrugged. "You know those frames always come with the ridiculous stock photos of happy smiling people. I doubt Woolsey would know the difference."

Reed snickered at the remark. "Hey, I think Captain Tuttle has a better view than you do, Coughlin. Maybe you should ask him to switch quarters with you."

"Funny, Reed, very funny. Too bad that it takes ten minutes to walk to the nearest transporter," Coughlin riposted. "It took us forever to get this stuff here, and it's not even that much."

"The two flights of stairs didn't make it easier carrying furniture. The exercise would do you good."

Coughlin rolled his eyes. "I seem to recall you coming in behind me at the last 5k/10k, Reed."

"Seriously?" scoffed Reed. "That was what, four _years _ago?"

"_Anyway_, what else do we need to take care of?" Coughlin said, quickly changing the subject. "Tuttle needs a locker in the gear room."

"He also needs _gear_," Reed pointed out. "I'll see if there're any discards that'll serve."

There almost certainly would be - off-world teams were hard on their clothes and equipment, to say the least. Rips, tears, burns, and constant use all wore things in remarkable time, especially with the limited resources in the Pegasus Galaxy. But Captain Tuttle, being an imaginary character, had no need of a _working _radio, after all, so long as it _looked _okay.

"Okay, then. I'll make sure the quarters and locker are marked off on the system as being Tuttle's. Meet you at the mess hall for chow later?" grinned Coughlin.

"Sure thing," Reed replied. Before following his compatriot out the door, he jauntily saluted the poster of Chuck Norris. "Carry on, Airman!"


	4. Chapter 4

"Dr. Mallozzi, have you seen Captain Tuttle? I've got a package for him," Chuck asked his fellow Canadian, one of the many astrophysicists on Atlantis. The Montrealer was known mostly for his occasionally outlandish theories about Gate travel, which only grew more ridiculous after he lost his beloved anime collection to Dr. Zelenka in a chess game.

"Tuttle?" Mallozzi stared at Chuck in confusion. "No, I haven't seen him. Did you try the mess hall? It's almost lunch time."

"Good idea," Chuck replied. "He's been waiting for this for ages. I'd hate to miss him before he goes off-world." He held up the large cardboard box for Mallozzi to examine.

"What is it? Do you know?" The astrophysicist pondered the large box. The labels were generic - this end up, do not drop, that sort of thing.

Chuck shrugged noncommittally. "No idea. But, knowing Tuttle, it's probably something impressive. I've never met a guy like him. I always look forward to reading his mission reports!"

"Really?"

"You'd never believe it the stuff I've heard about Captain Tuttle. The Wraith never see him coming. By the time they do, he's already on his way back to Atlantis. You know how he learned Ancient?" He stepped closer, lowering his voice confidentially. "He was once trapped in a time loop, reliving the same few hours, over and over again. The only way out was to translate an Ancient device and shut it down."

Mallozzi's eyes widened slightly. "That's amazing!"

Chuck nodded. This was just way too easy. "I know! He's a great guy, too. Some of the military guys don't have the time of day for scientists, but Tuttle's always busy helping someone somewhere."

The astrophysicist grinned. "Yeah, Tuttle's fantastic. Hey, if I see him, I'll tell him that you've got his box."

"Thanks, Dr. Mallozzi," Chuck beamed. "Oh, wait, I think I see him." Chuck pretended to spot someone down the corridor. "Captain Tuttle! I got a package for you!" He took off down the hall, chasing after the imaginary man, turning the corner towards the transporter.

As soon as he was out of Dr. Mallozzi's sight, Chuck slowed to a walk and chuckled inwardly. The astrophysicist was an incorrigible storyteller and gossip, always looking to dish out juicy scuttlebutt. Like his astrophysical theories, they only got bigger with time.

"Hey, Chuck, you want to join me for lunch in a few?" Amelia Banks, the other primary Gate technician, jogged to catch up. She was dressed in her workout clothes and had obviously just come from the gym. Amelia was one of those people on Atlantis you just didn't mess with. Ever. Her kickboxing skills were impressive, to say the least.

"Sure. I just need to get rid of this box," he replied.

"No problem; I need to get cleaned up, anyway," Amelia grinned. "What's in there, anyway?"

"Nothing, just more boxes."

"Boxes in a box?" Amelia asked.

"Some of the smaller boxes have boxes in them, too," Chuck said. "So, I'll meet you in the mess hall. After you?" He gestured to the transporter.

Amelia smiled again. "Thanks, Chuck. See you there." She disappeared inside the transporter.

That woman was seriously hot, Chuck mused.


	5. Chapter 5

"Tuttle root soup. How fitting," Reed remarked as he sat down next to Coughlin in the mess hall. Lunch was in full swing, and the room was filling up fast. They had wanted to sit down with Chuck to talk strategy, but Chuck had come in with Amelia Banks, and the two were firmly ensconced at their own table, engaged in an animated discussion. This left Coughlin and Reed to come up with their next moves on their own.

"I know, ain't it? Ol' Cap Tuttle's so great, they named a soup after him. Who can beat that?" Coughlin sipped the warm liquid noisily.

"Hey, Coughlin," Reed nudged him.

"Yeah?"

"If I'm Hawkeye, and you're Trapper John, does that make Chuck Radar O'Reilly?" asked Reed pensively.

"Hey, how come you're Hawkeye?" Coughlin objected. "I wanted to be Hawkeye."

Reed raised an eyebrow at his compatriot. "Well, for starters, Coughlin, I'm taller and prettier than you. So, what I saw goes."

"But I don't mess around with the nurses!" Coughlin pointed out truthfully. Reed had never seen a man more completely in love with his wife than Coughlin. It might seem sappy to some, but Reed found it quite admirable.

"You can be B.J. Hunnicutt, then," Reed graciously conceded. "That work for you?"

"Sure. And, to answer your original question, Chuck is _definitely _Radar. Which leaves Mr. Woolsey to play the part of Frank Burns!" Coughlin snickered gleefully. "Too bad we don't have anyone to be Hot Lips for him."

"Hey, Dr. McKay should be Charles Winchester. He's certainly pompous enough for the role," suggested Reed helpfully.

"Not as tall, though. David Ogden Stiers is six foot four. That's what, a good five inches taller than McKay?" said Coughlin in between bites of a sweet roll.

Reed snorted. "Let's not be too picky. This is only an analogy, not an exact science!"

"Oh, I just remembered," Coughlin interrupted. "Shouldn't Captain Tuttle have tags, too? I mean, if _we're_good enough to have dog tags, surely he should have them, too."

Poking at his peas a bit, Reed rolled his eyes. "And how were you planning on getting tags for a man who doesn't even exist, Coughlin? There's only one guy on Atlantis who can do that for you, and I'm not sure he's forgiven us for the prank with his lemons."

Coughlin grinned. "Oh, come on, Reed. That was three _years _ago. I'm sure that we can convince Sergeant Pinvidic to lend us a hand."

"'We' convince him?" Reed gestured with his fork. "I think that's 'you' convince him, Coughlin. It's your idea to get him involved in this."

"Hey, if you wanna be Hawkeye, you gotta help," Coughlin replied firmly. "We can always tell him he can be Sergeant Zale."

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><p><strong>AN**: The incident with the lemons is elaborated upon in _Conversations and Observations_, Chapter 31: "The Supply Sergeant's Lemons."


	6. Chapter 6

"Captain Tuttle? Wasn't he the soldier who saved you from the Wraith on M2S-451?" Dr. Montenegro asked Dr. Kaufmann.

"That was M2S-996," the German scientist replied stiffly, setting down his spoon.

"No, I'm sure it was 451," Montenegro frowned.

"_I_ was the one who nearly died. I think I would remember which planet it was on!" Kaufmann snapped. "I was _this close _to becoming food for a hungry Wraith! 996 had the pink _trees_. 451 had the pink _sky_! _Ich bin idioten umgeben! Dummkopf!_"

Dr. Montenegro was not amused. "_¿Ah, sí?_ _Es una lástima que los espectros no se come. ¡Habría aumentado el coeficiente intelectual de toda la ciudad!_

"Hey, guys, come on!" interjected Dr. Donaldson, one of the oceanographers. "Some of us are trying to eat here without being interrupted by multilingual shouting matches!"

"Yeah," Dr. Mallozzi agreed. "There's no reason to argue about this. Captain Tuttle didn't save Dr. Kaufmann over whether the sky or trees were pink. He did it because he's a hero! The man deserves a medal!"

Montenegro grumbled, but sat back down. "Captain Tuttle is a better man than I am."

"_Das ist nicht schwerig_," Kaufmann replied.

Mallozzi shot him a flash of annoyance. "_Sie sind nicht hilft die Situation, Kaufmann. Bitte, lassen Sie ihn allein._"

Kaufmann rolled his eyes. "If you insist."

"Thank goodness that's over with," Donaldson muttered.

"No kidding," Mallozzi concurred fervently, "_Pour l'amour de Dieu!_"

Several tables over, Amelia frowned at Chuck. "I wonder what those guys over there are fighting about. Seemed a bit intense."

Chuck peeked over his shoulder at the scientists, who were now engaged in a battle of Death Glares over their bowls of soup. "Could be anything," he replied. "They get excited about the strangest stuff."

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><p>For those who are interested, below are the translations. Though I hope they are not necessary for your enjoyment of the story. I also apologize if I got anything completely wrong.<p>

_Ich bin idioten umgeben! Dummkopf! _ I'm surrounded by idiots! Fool!

_¿Ah, sí?_ _Es una lástima que los espectros no se come. ¡Habría aumentado el coeficiente intelectual de toda la ciudad! _Oh, really? It's a shame the Wraith didn't eat you. It would have raised the IQ of the entire city!

_Das ist nicht schwierige Aufgabe_. That is not a difficult task.

_Sie sind nicht hilft die Situation, Kaufmann. Bitte, lassen Sie ihn allein. _You are not helping the situation, Kaufmann. Please, leave him alone.

_Pour l'amour de Dieu! _For goodness sake! (literally, "For the love of God!")


	7. Chapter 7

As Mr. Woolsey entered the mess hall, he was ambushed by a rather irate German scientist. Kaufmeyer or something like that. Woolsey had never been able to pin his name for certain; he didn't have a great deal of contact with most of the science division of Atlantis, dealing mostly with their senior representatives, Dr. McKay and the strange little Czech. Zelenka, that was his name.

In any case, the German began complaining (quite loudly), switching in and out of his own native language. The end result being that Woolsey had absolutely no idea what the problem was.

"Please, Doctor, try to control yourself. Start from the beginning and speak slowly and clearly," Woolsey pleaded.

The German glared at him as if he were an idiot, then proceeded with exaggerated care. "Mr. Woolsey, I demand that you recognize Captain Tuttle for saving my life from the Wraith on M2S-996. He is a hero, and everyone should know it."

Mr. Woolsey's eyebrows popped up. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the incident, Doctor. We've been having some problems with the mainframe, and some of the mission reports were mislaid."

"_Verlegt? Es ist viel wahrscheinlicher, dass jemand unfähig ist,_" the German replied acerbically. "No, no, Mr. Woolsey, never mind, just listen, and I will tell you exactly what happened. I was on a mission with one of the reconnaissance teams to M2S-996. I was studying a rare geological anomaly when the Wraith appeared in the sky. The _cerulean _sky. Captain Tuttle single-handedly shot down three Darts with his gun, saving my life and allowing us to retreat through the Stargate before more Wraith arrived. He is a hero! He deserves a medal!"

"I see," Woolsey said faintly, though he really didn't. "Are you certain it was M2S-996?"

The geologist's face flushed violently. "_Nicht du auch!_ Yes, Mr. Woolsey, it was M2S-996! With the _pink trees_! I just went through this!"

Woolsey grimaced uncomfortably; he had no idea why the German geologist- Kaufmann, that was it! - was so concerned with the color of the local foliage on the planet. He decided to classify it as an eccentricity of a scientist and leave it at that. "Dr. Kaufmann, I appreciate your consternation. I'm sure that everyone here is aware of Captain Tuttle's heroism in saving your life."

"That is not enough," Kaufmann griped, tossing a glare over his shoulder. "_Some_people around here do not appreciate the captain properly!"

Mr. Woolsey recalled the conversation he had overheard that morning between two soldiers in the corridor. Those men, while apparently admiring the captain's heroism, felt a bit overshadowed by it as well. "I'll see what I can do, Dr. Kaufmann, but we also don't want to make the other men too uncomfortable around him."

"He is a hero. Is that not enough?" the German stated loftily. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Woolsey. Enjoy your lunch." As Kaufmann left, Woolsey heard him mutter, "_Lieber Gott, warum quälen Sie mich solchen Idioten?_"

Mr. Woolsey decided it probably wasn't worth it to inquire. Instead, he went to the line for food. The main dish for lunch today was some sort of fragrant soup, not one he recognized. "Excuse me," he asked the man behind the counter, "What kind of soup is this?"

"Tuttle root soup, Mr. Woolsey," the man enthused. "Unique to the Pegasus Galaxy! Nothing like it anywhere else, sir. Would you like to try it?"

"Yes, please." This was too much to be a coincidence, Woolsey pondered. Captain Tuttle even had a soup named after him! No wonder the men were so overwhelmed by him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Here follow the translations -

_Verlegt? Es ist viel wahrscheinlicher, dass jemand unfähig ist. _: Mislaid? It is much more likely that someone is incompetant.

_Nicht du auch!_ : Not you, too!

_Lieber Gott, warum quälen Sie mich solchen Idioten? _: Dear God, why do you torment me with such idiots?


	8. Chapter 8

"You're kidding, right?" Sergeant Pinvidic set down his computer tablet as he gave Coughlin and Reed an expression of disbelief.

"Nope," Coughlin replied. "We'd like a set of dog tags for Captain Tuttle. Poor guy doesn't have any, after all, so we decided to get him some."

The supply sergeant continued to stare dubiously at the pair. "Okay, you two, who's the joke on this time?" he asked after a moment.

"Who, us?" Reed rolled his eyes. "You wound me."

"No, but I might if you don't answer the question, wise guy," the Marine drawled conversationally.

Coughlin looked at Reed and shrugged. "Might as well tell him, I guess."

"Might as well."

"And we didn't actually start it, in fact."

"For once."

"Yeah, well-"

"Are you girls going to keep gossiping, or are you going to answer my question?" Pinvidic interrupted, still in the same conversational tone.

"Oh, right. Woolsey's the target," Coughlin explained. "Chuck's the one who brought us in on this little operation."

"Chuck? The guy that Woolsey always calls 'Chet' for some reason?" The sergeant's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline – or rather, where his hairline would have been, if his head wasn't shaved smooth. "You'd think a paper-pusher like Woolsey would have learned the name of his primary gate-tech by now. Little details like that are important."

Coughlin's hopes perked up, along with his ears. "So, you'll help us?"

"I didn't say that, Coughlin. Chuck may have started this 'operation,' but you two have undoubtedly already hijacked it and taken it to a whole new level," Pinvidic replied swiftly. "Don't get me wrong, Chuck's a nice enough guy for a Canuck, and his hockey team isn't that bad at all, but what's in it for me?"

"Making Woolsey look like an idiot?" Coughlin suggested brightly.

Sergeant Pinvidic gave him a withering look. "That the best you can do? Woolsey doesn't need any help to do that. Have you _seen_ the table in the Stargate Ops conference room?"

Coughlin and Reed shared a glance. What could they get for the man who gets everything?

"What sort of thing are you looking for?" asked Reed straightforwardly, figuring it was the quickest way to reach the significant portion of this conversation.

"Well, I already have a good supply of kopi luwak, so that's out," the supply sergeant mused. "Plenty of spices in the rack. Oh, I know just the thing, boys. If you get me some peppermint, I'll get you your dog tags for Captain Tuttle."

"Peppermint?" asked Coughlin in confusion. "Like, 'Get the sensation' peppermint?"

Reed sighed sadly. "No, he wants actual peppermint. From the plant"

"Got it in one, Reed," Pinvidic replied. "Did you know that peppermint is a hybrid? Technically, it's a cross between watermint and spearmint. Peppermints rarely produce their own seeds. Unfortunately, we haven't found a single planet in the Pegasus Galaxy with a decent facsimile of peppermint. But you managed to bring a pot here after your last leave, didn't you, Reed?"

"You can't be asking me for the whole plant, Sarge!" objected Reed. "It's simply not worth it!"

"Wait, you managed to get a potted plant here, Reed? Where'd you hide the thing?" asked Coughlin in surprise.

"Hey, Coughlin, knock it off. We're trying to negotiate here," the supply sergeant barked. "I'm a generous guy, Reed. I'll let you keep the plant in exchange for a regular supply to be mutually determined once I examine the plant."

Reed pursed his lips for a few moments. "Done and done."

"Great. Now I just need to know Captain Tuttle's vital information to put on the tags," Pinvidic grinned.


End file.
